


Drawn

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3569345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold has a thing or two to say to the blue-eyed artist who is using the pavement right in front of his shop as her canvas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One minute she wasn't there, and then she was, appearing almost like magic. She sits down on the pavement with what appears to be half of the townspeople gathering around her at a disturbing speed. Her back is towards him, but it's crystal clear to him that the petite woman with the long, dark curls has never been in town before.

Her presence wouldn't have mattered to Mr. Gold, he wouldn't have cared at all, if she would have chosen any spot on Main Street other than the one right in front of his shop.

Watching her for a moment from the darkness of his lair, she appears to use crayons of sorts to draw something, something  _large,_ on the previously impeccable tiles leading to his shop. The townspeople watch, excitedly chatting with her, their words muted by the glass that separates the pawnbroker from the scene.

Whatever is going on, he won't have any of it.

Without thinking twice, he marches out of his shop, into the light of day, angrily tapping his cane on the ground with each step when he makes his way towards the woman.

She is doing... something on the pavement, her head and hair obscuring her actions from his current view. The bowl with already a few coins in it standing at her side is however very visible to him.

"What the  _hell_ do you think you're doing!?" he snarls, yanking her up by her arm.

The crowd gasps in unison, but he doesn't hear. His mouth falls open when he finds himself gazing upon the loveliest face he has ever seen, her skin pale and flawless, her eyes startlingly blue... and the lips she briefly licks full and... well.

"I'm making a street drawing," she says, looking at him with wide eyes. "I... I believed this spot was available. Mayor Mills explicitly told me to go here."

"I'm sure she did," he growls quietly, looking away from her enchanting face to find the gloating mayor at the very front of the crowd.

"I'm so sorry," she cries out, following his gaze. "I should have asked your permission, too. But it was so dark inside, I thought your shop was closed, and I really couldn't wait to get started. Please don't take offense... well, not more than you already have, I mean, but this town really can use some color."

"It does," he replies, less unkindly than before now that Regina is looking at them like she can't wait for him to tear the young woman apart right there and then.

Realizing that he's still holding her arm, although considerably less firmly than before, he quickly lets go of her.

"I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. I'll clean this up and I'll find a better spot... or rather, I think I'll skip this town altogether."

"That... that won't be necessary," he says, looking back into those eyes that are bluer than any crayon could ever be. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, particularly for the way in which I did so. Please forgive me for my lapse of judgment and go on as you were, if you like."

"You thoroughly startled me, and purposefully so, I dare say," she replies, looking intently at him, as if she's trying to see into his very soul. "I can't forgive you just yet. I'll have to get to know you better first."

 _I'm looking forward to it_.

"Don't count on it," he says, straightening himself and placing his cane firmly on the ground between them, drawing up each and every single proverbial wall at his disposal.

"I just might," she says, winking-  _winking!_ \- at him, thoroughly flustering him.

Then he remembers that many people are watching them, and that he's got a reputation to maintain... that especially the mesmerizing woman herself can never know of the spark she has somehow ignited within him.

"I'll color the pavement red with your blood if you only remotely disturb me or my business," he says slightly too loudly, right before turning around and heading back to the protection of his dusty, dimly lit shop.

He catches her smiling faintly in response from the corners of his eyes just before he's returned to safety, giving him the alarming suspicion that _he_ is the one in trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

Because Mr. Gold  _hasn't_ been watching the young woman decorating the pavement in front of his shop the whole day, because he  _hasn't_ been looking at her for in fact most of the time, he isn't surprised when she's suddenly entering his premises rather than sitting at her spot in front of it.

Well, of course he is thoroughly surprised. He may have seen her coming, but that doesn't prepare him in the slightest for her actual arrival in his barely visited domain, bringing some of the light from outside into his world.

"Do I assume correctly that I'm safe from the risk of having my blood spilled over the pavement as long as I'm in your shop?" she asks, lingering near the threshold. There's some nervousness in her voice, but it's drowned out by unexplainable amusement and curiosity.

"You are correct to assume that," he stiffly says, wincing when he thinks back of his earlier threat. She had no way of knowing that it was directed at their audience, the meddling mayor in particular, rather than at her... indeed, she still hasn't.

"You must be Mr. Gold," she says, the warmth in her voice just as strange as everything about her, especially when she heads straight towards him, extending her hand.

"I am, yes," he replies.

He recalls that his name is largely printed on the front of his shop – not to mention that the townspeople must have told her of him - just before he asks her how she knows that.

"I'm Belle French."

Realizing that she's still offering her hand, all he can do is shake it, finding her grip firm, but not too much so, and nicely warm.

"May I inquire what brought you to this quaint little town, Miss French?" he asks, curious despite himself.

"I'm traveling the world. I left my hometown in Australia about two years ago and I arrived in the United States last month. Storybrooke happened to be on my way. I liked the name of it, so I decided to stay for a while."

"How long are you staying?" he asks, telling himself that he only does so because he wants to know when things will be normal and quiet once more.

"Until my work here is finished," she smiles, pointing over her shoulder in the general direction of the drawing on the pavement.

"Dare I ask with what kind of drawing you are ruining that public property?"

"It's going to be an image from Beauty and the Beast," she replies, beaming at him.

He looks questioningly at her, wondering whether that's supposed to mean something.

"The animated Disney movie from 1991?"

"It doesn't ring a bell," he says, suppressing the thought that his son was already long gone in that year... that they might have seen it together otherwise.

"Here, just let me show you," she says, grasping his arm and moving to lead him to the street.

"No  _thank you_ ," he barks. He yanks his arm free, thoroughly startled by the unexpected touch.

"I'm sorry," she says, quickly withdrawing her hand. Then she tilts her head, smiling mischievously at him. "Am I at risk of having my head bashed in now for bothering you as soon as I set foot on the pavement again?"

"I'll let it pass if you think twice next time before you take liberties with my person."

"And what if I still want to take  _liberties_ after thinking twice?"

The pawnbroker prides himself on his eloquence, but he really has no idea whatsoever what to say in response to her playful remark.

"You really don't want to do that, Miss French," he growls eventually. "You'll find that I'm not a pleasant man."

"More so than you showed me this morning?" she asks with sincere innocence, as if the actual implication of his words hasn't registered with her at all. She just looks at him,  _really_ looks, as if she sees something of which he himself doesn't know that it's there.

"Considerably more so," he replies with none of the venom he intended, with growing panic wondering how he can possibly scare her off without either diminishing the light radiating from her or getting burned by its brightness.

"Do you at least want to take a look at the picture I'm basing my drawing on?" she asks, reaching for one of the pockets of her skirt.

" _No,"_ he snaps.

After all, it's not like he  _cares_.

"I'd be happy to show you if you change your mind," she just says, undeterred, smiling at him in a way that makes no sense whatsoever.

"Where will you go next, once your drawing is finished?" he asks, telling himself that he only does so to hopefully hear that she's soon going to be far, far away.

"I don't know yet," she says happily.

"Best get back to work," he snaps, before he might give in to the sudden, unexplainable urge to ask her what it's like, in the world outside Storybrooke.

"I suppose so. See you around, Mr. Gold!"

"Let's hope not," he mutters darkly.

His eyes are on her, unblinking, the entire while she takes to make her way out of his shop, slowing down more than once to cast a glance on some of the items on display. When she at last steps through the front door, it's like the light inside has gone out.

No matter what he told her, no matter what he tells  _himself_ , Mr. Gold is glad that he in all likelihood hasn't seen the last of her.


	3. Chapter 3

"Good morning again, Mr. Gold!"

The pawnbroker looks up from the watch he's repairing, despite the chime of the bell surprised when the ever so strange Miss French enthusiastically greets him for a second time that day. The pain in his ankle that has been tormenting him all morning momentarily vanishes almost entirely at the sight of her.

"To what do I owe the questionable pleasure of your company this time?" he asks, the harsh words belied by his tone, which is more curious than anything else.

"I got you a muffin from Granny's," she says, beaming at him while proudly presenting the sort of paper bag he knows only too well.

She hands the bag to him, looking at him expectantly. Beyond baffled, he takes it without thought. His eyes remain on the impossible woman the whole time, but there's no mistaking that the bag is folded exactly in Widow Lucas' trademark style as the scent he has been craving for the past hour or so reaches his nostrils.

"What..."

The usually so eloquent pawnbroker can only look at the woman standing on the other side of his counter in complete bewilderment.

"Yesterday I saw you visiting Granny's at ten o'clock, just like the day before. I've been at Granny's the whole morning myself, because of the rain, but I didn't see you come in. Then I realized that the pain in your leg probably prevented you from getting your favorite snack."

"You... you  _noticed_?!" he asks weakly.

"Of course I did," she says, looking at him as if the pain he thought to mask was written on his forehead – and still is. "Your limp was considerably worse than the past few days when you walked into your shop this morning. You were also frowning. More than usual, I mean."

It's tempting to allow himself to think that he has been careless,  _weak_ , by showing his vulnerability like that. But one second of staring into those bright eyes reminds him that he has behaved exactly the same way as always; she only noticed his discomfort because she, unlike anyone else he knows, actually  _looks_ at him.

Very much aware that her gaze is still on him, Mr. Gold opens the bag she got him and eagerly takes the muffin out. When he is holding the treat he has been thinking of all morning, he can't resist the urge to take a large bite.

No matter how much he enjoys the muffin, there's no ignoring that she looks at him with a smile. Only when he takes a second bite, Mr. Gold realizes that she doesn't have anything to eat.

"Didn't you get anything for yourself?" he asks as soon as his mouth is empty, feeling a strange unease at the discovery that she doesn't have anything to eat.

"No, I didn't. Money is a bit tight at the moment. I spent almost everything I had on my plane ticket to Boston and I don't make much money here with the weather being as bad as it is."

Strangely, ridiculously, he finds himself almost offering her a rather outrageous sum of money to clean in his shop for a single rainy afternoon or so.

"How did you know I like these muffins?" he asks instead, staring at the delicious treat rather than continuing to eat it.

"I may have nagged Granny until she finally told me what you buy at ten o'clock each morning."

He looks up just in time to see the ever so odd woman wink playfully at him, significantly reducing his mental capabilities yet further.

"I... let me pay you back," he brings out, reaching for his wallet and wishing that he'd realized sooner that this is the least that he can do.

"No!" she cries out, looking horrified at the mere notion. "It's a gift."

He can only stare at her, unable to process the claim that she spent a part of her limited income to get  _him_  a wonderful but overpriced muffin.

"Although I  _may_ have had an ulterior motive."

"Of course," he mutters quietly, the remaining taste of the treat turning to ash in his mouth.

"It's entirely possible that I got you that muffin as an excuse to get into your shop again. I can't address you in the street after all, not without taking the considerable risk of having you spill my blood all over your pavement."

"You're not... you're not seriously afraid of that?" he asks, his voice almost inaudible and trembling strangely.

"Not anymore," she replies, covering his idle hand with her own for a few breathtaking seconds. It's not only his voice that's quivering then, the muffin almost falling from his suddenly unreliable fingers. "I just hoped to get to talk to you again... and it  _is_ nicely warm in here. And if you insist, we can always share that muffin. I must admit it looks very good."

That's how Mr. Gold ends up carefully tearing the muffin in two, offering her the largest, uneaten part with shaking fingers. The hope that things might go back to normal then is lost when she eagerly stuffs her half of the treat in its entirety into her mouth, groaning in an almost sinful manner at the taste of it.

Right there and then he wordlessly vows to find a way to get her at least one muffin a day for as long as she stays in town.

"How's your drawing coming along?" he asks, his own half of the muffin forgotten when he recalls that she said that she'll leave Storybrooke once her work is finished.

Until now, he made a point of not looking at her progress on the pavement whenever he walked past it, not wanting her to know that he has become actually interested in her work. But that was  _before_ , before a smile sweeter than any muffin.

"I'm afraid I'll have to start all over again once this awful rain is finally over," she sighs, talking with her mouth half full in a way that shouldn't be nearly as endearing as it is. "Almost everything is washed away. It's only crayon, after all."

The pawnbroker doesn't know what to say in response, not wanting her to know that he's strangely glad because of the implication that she's going to stay in town for longer than she initially intended.

"But it isn't all that bad," she continues, smiling again. "I very much enjoy spending time with you, Mr. Gold. And your shop, it's  _fascinating_. I've never seen..."

Her smile falters when her eyes settle on something behind him.

"Is that..." He turns around to follow her gaze as it focuses on one of the latest items he acquired. "Does that vase depict the escape of Odysseus from the Sirens?"

"It does," the pawnbroker replies, his voice strangely hoarse. The joy he got when he acquired the priceless vase from the ever ignorant Midas for only a fraction of what it's truly worth is nothing compared to the delight of meeting anyone in this forsaken town who appears to recognize it.

"Surely, it's a replica?!"

"I can assure you that isn't," he replies quietly.

" _Wow,"_ she just says, breathless and reverent. "Could I see it? Not to touch it or anything, but to take a better look at it?"

"Be my guest," he says, gesturing her to get closer to the priceless artifact. "Maybe... maybe you would like to see some other things as well? I could give you a tour of my collection, if you'd like."

"I'd love to," she replies, looking back at him over her shoulder to give him a smile more radiant than any electrical light he could ever install in the usually dark shop.

He follows her to stand beside her as she admires the ancient vase, his gaze solely on her the whole time, with equal appreciation and wonder. She might as well be a Siren herself, and he an oblivious sailor, drawn to his demise by her beauty and loveliness... and he wouldn't have it any other way.


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Gold is somewhat confident by the end of the morning, having mustered enough courage to step out of his shop and approach the lovely woman who is once more sitting right in front of it, enhancing the pavement with her work.

The words he had mentally prepared are stuck in his mouth however when he casts a curious glance on the drawing she is creating with her crayons. This is the second time that he allows himself to actually look at her work, but when he did so for the first time earlier today – after buying her two muffins - there was little more there than several white outlines to indicate the drawing with which she had to start all over again.

Now, however, she is coloring what is obviously a young woman wearing a bright yellow dress. More than the image itself, it's the vividness of it that captivates him. It's as if the woman who is being drawn is fresh and blood rather than crayon and stone, ready to stand up from the pavement and walk down the street at any moment.

"This is  _incredible_ ," he brings out.

"Thank you," she says, the flush which appears on her cheeks only further adding to his complete, terrifying lack of capability to remember, let alone say, the words he thought up earlier.

"Would you like to have lunch with me?" he ends up blurting out when she keeps looking straight at him, almost expectantly, with those too blue eyes and seemingly never fading smile.

"I'd love to," she simply says, as if she doesn't need a carefully considered speech at all before agreeing to spend her lunchtime with the town's monster, who lashed out at her in the very first minute of meeting her.

"Would it be acceptable to you to eat in my shop?" he asks, despite everything not having forgotten that particular question. Even in this state of hopeful, panicked distraction, it's only too easy to imagine how unpleasant it would be to have lunch together at Granny's, with the attention of each and every other patron doubtlessly solely on them.

"It would be very acceptable," she says with the same matter-of-factness, as if there's nothing she'd rather do than have a meal with him in his ever so dark shop of all places.

That's how Mr. Gold finds himself with Miss French opposite him at the small table in the backroom of his shop shortly afterwards, unpacking the takeaway burgers, fries and iced tea he bought them at Granny's.

There's none of the awkwardness or unease he would have expected, both of them enjoying their meal while she talks about her work, travels and adventures without barely any prompting from him. Still, he doesn't quite hear everything she says, just like he isn't all that aware of the food he's eating, most of his attention dedicated to her radiant face and animated gestures.

No matter how much he wishes that they could stay like this for a very long time, the moment when both their antique plates are empty unavoidably arrives far sooner than he'd like.

"Just so you know, I  _have_ forgiven you for behaving the way you did when we met," she says when he is frantically trying to think of something that might keep the two of them in the same room for at least a little while longer.

"Thank you, Miss French. That means very much to me. What I said to you, what I  _did_ to you... I can't forgive myself."

"I won't pretend to know you very well, although I very much wish to. But it seems to me that, deep inside, you are hardly the man you pretend to be. It's like you're afraid to let anyone get close to you. If that's true... well, it would be a real pity, Mr. Gold."

The pawnbroker has no idea whatsoever what to say in response, or even what to think of her statements. Before he can acknowledge at least to himself that maybe he  _wants_ to be different for her, she stands up abruptly.

Intuitively, he does the same, reaching out subconsciously for her with a pathetic hand for a short moment, in some sort of attempt to keep her with him for just a bit longer.

"Just to be sure," she says, her teasing smile belied by the seriousness of her expression. "Would I be in danger of having my head bashed in by you if I would hug you?"

"You wouldn't be at all," he manages to say.

Mr. Gold doesn't believe that she would actually embrace him,  _can't_  believe that she would. He likes to think that she wouldn't purposefully deceive him, but surely he has misunderstood her at the very least. And yet, he's overcome by a helpless  _need_ at the notion of this incredible opportunity, no matter how misconceived.

Her smile turning serious as well, she steps towards him and purposefully embraces him, just like that – as if he isn't a beast who hasn't been touched in any affectionate way since his son died, so many long years ago.

And then there's warmth of a kind he didn't know existed, warmth he can't imagine living without from now on. There's also a sheer physical closeness of a sort he never experienced before now that her entire upper body is pressed tightly against his, her arms locked around his neck and her head resting against his shoulder... a nearness which he finds addictively delightful rather than suffocating or simply terrifying.

"Try to relax," she says, her words hardly more than a brush of warm air against his ear. Only then he realizes that he's standing ramrod straight, every muscle in his body taut, his right hand clinging to his cane and the other balled into a fist.

Doing his very best to for once live in the moment – or indeed, to just  _live –_  Mr. Gold tries not to think and to simply  _be,_ to enjoy this most unexpected of developments.

" _That's_ it," she breathes, one of her hands making its way from his neck to his back, caressing him lightly.

Further encouraged by those words and the shiver-inducing touch, the pawnbroker exhales shakily and slowly wills his muscles to relax, finding that his body gradually all but melds against hers with surprising ease. He tentatively buries his nose in her dark curls and discreetly inhales the scent of adventure and joy.

He even moves his questioning hands to her waist, holding her ever so lightly when she mutters her approval.

Especially when she snuggles into him – there really is no other way to describe it – Mr. Gold wishes that he would never have to let go of the woman who brought light and warmth into his life.


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Gold can barely believe that he has known the woman who is currently leaning against him on the cot in the backroom of his shop for less than a week. More than that, he doesn't want to think of the fact that she'll be gone in a few days at the most, never to return again.

He'll have to get back to his empty life, knowing only too well that the very life in which he was content once will never be enough again.

It's not as if he hasn't been doing his very best to delay her, to postpone the day that her gradually expanding drawing in front of his shop will be finished. But although she has said that her progress is considerably slower than she expected, the gorgeous work crawls towards completion regardless.

Almost just as unfortunately, each meal shared in the back of his shop, each conversation in front of his premises and each stroll through Storybrooke that keeps her from her work for another hour so only makes him like Belle more... only makes him  _love_ her more.

"You're thinking too much again," she says without looking up from her book.

"Am I?" he asks as innocently as he can, buying time to get his thoughts in a more appropriate direction rather than truly thinking he can escape her remark.

"I can  _feel_ it," she says, putting down his copy of the Odyssey.

Despite knowing only too well that he shouldn't, Mr. Gold can't help but savor the moment that's about to be disturbed by whatever turn the conversation will take. It's just that it's so very easy to imagine more days like this, a  _lifetime_ like this, with her reading at his side, her head pillowed on his thigh as she lies on the cot with one of his books in her lap.

She sits up and looks at him with those ever inquisitive eyes of her, looking right through all the walls he has built around himself in the past three decades. The quiet comfort already gone, he may as well ask the question that has been on his mind almost constantly in the past few days.

"Is there someone waiting for you back in Australia, or anywhere else? A... a boyfriend perhaps, or a fiancé... or a husband?"

 _Of course_ there is. She has turned quite a few heads in Storybrooke in the few days she has been there, has attracted the attention of young, strong and supposedly handsome men – which makes it only more unbelievable that she's willing to spend so much time with  _him._ He doesn't dare imagine what kind of impact she has on men who have the privilege of knowing her for much longer than that.

So Mr. Gold knows the answer to his own question only too well. But he needs to hear her say it, needs to hear from her lips that she's got someone to go back to, that it's even more impossible that  _he_ might have a chance with her.

He doesn't truly believe that this will make it easier to be separated from her, but he needs to be able to think so, if only to make their looming goodbye slightly bearable.

"There's no one at all," she says, something appearing in her eyes that he can't quite identify.

Now the pawnbroker feels particularly bad about asking this, if only for a whole different reason than he expected. Already knowing that both her parents are dead and that she has no siblings or other relatives, he sincerely wishes that she would have a charming, dazzling young man to go back to.

"Why are you asking?" she asks quietly, looking at him intently. "Are  _you_ interested?"

_Yes._

"No, of course not, no," he replies flatly, his expression and posture as neutral and casual as he can possibly make them, which is a considerable effort indeed. But it's for the better, obviously, for she would never want anyone like  _him_. Best not to ruin the precious few hours they can still spend together with things that can never be more than a dream anyway.

"Well then," she says, looking away from him and standing up abruptly. "It's getting late, I suppose I should be going."

"Where will you stay tonight?" he asks, despite everything not having forgotten about the unusual cold for this time of year which had her holed up in his shop for the greater part of the day. "Surely, you aren't going back to your tent?!"

Mr. Gold can barely suppress a shudder at the thought of her spending another night camping on the outskirts of town, all alone underneath a single layer of damp, freezing canvas.

"I don't see why not," she replies with a sudden tightness in her voice, which wasn't there even in the very beginning of their acquaintance, when he treated her as appallingly as he did. "I've had worse."

_Not while I'm around._

"Let me rent you a room at Granny's," he practically pleads.

"I'm not taking any more money from you. Don't think I didn't notice you slipping ten dollar bills in my collection bowl whenever you think I'm not looking."

"You saw that?" he asks, his shoulders sagging at the discovery she has known that it was  _him_ who financially supported her in supposed secret whenever she affectionately talked about her 'shy admirer'.

"I did," she says, her expression softening. "You really aren't as dark as you pretend to be, Mr. Gold. And I'm glad."

He has no idea what to say to that, but it appears that there is no need for words when she just looks at him with one of those beautiful smiles on her lips.

"If it makes you feel any better, and if you don't object, I might as well spend the night right here."

Mr. Gold can't begin to wonder whether it would be appropriate to offer her one of the never used guest rooms in his house instead, not when she takes his hands in her own and squeezes gently.

"I don't object in the slightest," he manages to bring out, staring at their joined hands.

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Gold. I really appreciate this."

"You'll need blankets," he belatedly realizes, "and pillows and..."

"All I need is this cot. I can sleep under my jacket. It's a lot warmer here than in my tent, after all, and definitely more comfortable."

"Your jacket is still damp from the rain," he reminds her, a glance at the old heater where the item in question is drying informing him that it'll take another while until it's at least somewhat suitable to keep her warm.

"Well, I could always sleep under your coat, if you insist again," she says, winking playfully at him.

Flustered, he reaches for the black, admittedly thick and warm fabric in question without a second thought... only to see her bewilderment when he hands it to her.

"I uh... I was joking," she says sheepishly. "I'd love to take it, actually, but you need it when you go home."

"Nonsense," he replies, the strange fluttering somewhere deep inside him that he has experienced often in the past few days yet more intense. "My car is parked right in front of the shop and I can always turn up the heat if I get cold while driving home."

It's not as if that will be necessary though, with the prospect of Belle sleeping under his coat.

"Thank you, again _,"_ she says, the radiance of her smile something that he'll probably never get used to, even if he would have the honor and pleasure of knowing her for the rest of his life... which he clearly hasn't.

"Would you like me to read to you for a while before going to sleep?" he asks once he has mustered the required courage.

She may hitchhike out of his life in a few days' time, but  _this_ is a goodbye that he might manage to postpone for just a while.

"I'd love that!"

That's how the pawnbroker finds himself taking the book and sitting down right there where she meaningfully pats onto the cot, continuing the story of Odysseus' epic quest right where she left off. Belle lies down and makes herself comfortable as well, pulling his coat over her like a blanket as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

After quite a while but far sooner than he hoped, she's starting to fall asleep, her breath becoming slower and her eyelids more often closed than opened.

"I'll leave you to sleep in peace," he announces quietly.

"Do you want to leave?" she asks, dazed eyes meeting his.

"Not particularly, no," he allows himself to admit.

"I'd really like it if you'd read to me until I fall asleep."

"Then I shall do exactly that," he says, putting all of his wavering focus on the chapter detailing how Odysseus' wife Penelope kept her many suitors at bay in the two decade long absence of the man she loved by secretly undoing her progress on the shroud she was weaving, to postpone the completion of her work and thus the moment she had to marry one of the suitors.

With an effort that wouldn't be all that much unlike that of the classical hero he is reading about, Mr. Gold manages to keep his eyes off her until the lightest of snoring informs him that she has fallen asleep.

When he lowers the book at last, all he can do is drink in the sight of the wonderful woman sleeping at his side, her relaxation and nearness implying a fondness and trust that's infinitely more valuable than anything he has ever traded.

It further convinces the landlord that there's just no way that he can continue his life without her, that there are few things he wouldn't do to be able to at least spend a few more days with her.

Looking back at the pages he just read to her, sudden inspiration strikes on how he might be able to keep her in Storybrooke – with  _him –_  for just a little while longer.


	6. Chapter 6

Mr. Gold returns to the scene of his crime exactly forty-eight hours later, once more with soapy water and a rag in his hand. Carefully leaning down next to the drawing she has almost completed by now, a torch in his left hand, he makes certain not to look at the gorgeous artwork he's about to partially destroy once more.

The image from the Beauty and the Beast movie that she meticulously recreated with nothing but crayons on the pavement in front of his shop is more lovingly and skillfully made than many a treasure inside his premises.

It almost physically hurts to dip the rag in the warm water and start rubbing it over her work, the face of the Beast to be precise, slowly but gradually erasing part of the image she has drawn so painstakingly earlier that day.

It seems like her progress has been less than in the past few days, despite the improved weather, but she's on the verge of completing her work regardless, thus also reaching the moment that she'll leave Storybrooke forever, to continue her journey around the world.

If he was a more courageous man, he would ask her to watch the Beauty and the Beast movie with him, giving the both of them at least a few more hours together, and perhaps... well,  _more._

But he is a coward and although there are some uncanny parallels between the two of them and the two characters from Beauty and the Beast that she enthusiastically told him about after all, he knows only too well that his story won't have a very happy ending.

He considered it a good sign that she insisted on spending the night in her tent rather than in his shop once more now that the weather turned for the better, making it a lot easier for him to sneak out with his tools.

It's with loathing and relief alike as he washes away her progress of the past two days, wondering just how much he should erase. He wants her to stay for as long as possible, but he also doesn't want to destroy so much that she might be discouraged to the extent that she leaves straight away, not to mention that he hates himself yet more for sabotaging her efforts like this.

All that is the last on his mind however when there's a light shining directly into his face without warning, blinding him. He's startled to the extent that he loses his balance, ending up on his hand and knees with no dignity whatsoever... exactly like he has been mentally feeling the past few days.

"So  _you_ are the one who has been erasing my drawing."

The flashlight is lowered and he gets back into an upright position with considerable difficulty, blinking furiously. When his vision recovers, it turns out that it's none other than Belle French herself standing opposite him, her flashlight now accusingly on the abandoned bucket of soapy water.

"I'm so sorry," he manages to bring out, lowering his head and wishing that the pavement she decorated could swallow him whole.

"Why did you do this?"

Her voice is very, very quiet, but he can hear her loud and clear.

"Because I don't want you to leave," he mutters miserably, the excuse sounding yet more pathetic than it did in the confines of his own mind.

"Do you want me to stay in Storybrooke?"

"Yes," he replies weakly.

"Do you want me to stay with  _you_?"

He looks up from the ground, meeting her gaze with pleading eyes.

"Isn't it obvious?" he whispers, a sense of humiliation he hoped never to experience again rising up within him. "Please don't make me say it."

Rather than replying to him, Belle switches off her flashlight and kneels down next to him, reaching for him.

Mr. Gold has tried to ignore it, has attempted to make his pathetic infatuation for her not any worse, but as the moon appears from behind the clouds, shining down on her like she's an ethereal angel of sorts, he can no longer deny that she's incredibly beautiful.

She offers him a hand which he hesitantly accepts, helping him back onto his feet. He leaves the rag and the bucket on the pavement, thoroughly ashamed of himself.

"I hoped that you were the one who did this," she says, trailing the gentlest of fingertips down his cheeks, making it almost impossible for him to keep breathing. "And that you did it to keep me longer in Storybrooke."

Knowing that he has been found out, the pawnbroker nods miserably.

"Did it ever occur to you to  _ask_ me to stay longer, if only for a few days?"

"Of course," he says, staring at the pavement. "But what would have been the point? There's no reason whatsoever for you to stay in this town, especially not with..."

He falters, realizing only in the nick of time that he almost made the situation even worse.

"So you came up instead with a plan to delay me, without letting me know that you were behind it. A bit like Penelope."

"I did," he admits, defeated.

"Didn't you notice that I made considerably less progress in the past few days than I did in the beginning to begin with, beyond the delay you caused?"

"I did, but..."

He looks up once more after all, not understanding. He supposed that her declining results were... well, anything other than purposeful.

"In all our conversations, you never asked me when I plan to stop traveling."

She looks at him meaningfully, not elaborating on that rather puzzling statement and not filling the sudden silence between them with anything else.

"When do you plan to stop traveling?" he asks at length, sensing that it's important to do so but not knowing why.

"When I've found a reason to stay somewhere," she replies, simply but meaningfully.

He can only stand there, dumbfound at her implication.

"Mr. Gold, did it ever occur to you that despite the way I got to know you, I've grown _very_ fond of you?"

Her hand is still at his face, caressing his slightly stubbled cheek and chin, making it yet more difficult to  _think_.

"Do you by any chance feel the same way about me?" she whispers, stepping yet closer towards him. "You told me that you aren't interested in me, but at the same time you're going great lengths to keep me here and... well, the mixed signals you're giving off are very confusing."

"I..."

Leaning into her touch despite himself, it occurs to him for the first time that maybe, she is insecure about what's going on between them as well.

"I've fallen in love with you," he blurts out, unable to keep the truth that has been weighing so heavily on him to himself any longer.

"I hoped that you did," she says, slowly closing the distance between them rather than recoiling in disgust. "Because I think I'm falling in love with you, too."

Her mouth brushes against his, tenderly and questioningly, as if such an act is nothing but a logical continuation of everything they have experienced together so far.

Heat rising within him, equal part longing and anxiety, all the pawnbroker can do is stand there, his eyes wide open. He dimly realizes that her lips are warm and slightly chapped, and that he wishes that they could stay like this forever.

She withdraws after what could either be minutes or seconds, looking at him expectantly. He stares at the lips that were just against his, disbelieving, having no idea whatsoever what to do or say now.

Only when he reads doubt in her usually so confident gaze, it occurs to him that his reaction – or rather, the complete lack thereof – probably does the complete opposite of letting her know just how much he enjoyed what she was courageous enough to do.

"Will you... will you do that again?" he stammers, the inelegant request the only thing he can think of right there and then to communicate his relief and happiness that she just kissed him.

"I'd love to," she replies, the smile he loves so much appearing on her face once more. "But only if you make me feel that you like it, too."

"How... I don't know how to..."

"It's all right, you silly man."

The affection – indeed, the  _love –_  written all over her face convinces the pawnbroker that there's nothing to be afraid of, that it doesn't matter all that much that he doesn't know how to kiss and touch her properly. She'll teach him what she likes rather than laughing at him without giving him such a chance.

"Just kiss me back," she adds, her hand finding its way to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair.

Enchanted, disbelieving and happier than he has ever been, Mr. Gold is the one to lean in this time, doing just that.


End file.
